


Songfic Challenge 2013

by mevious



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Multi, One Shot Collection, Songfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 15:17:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/954655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mevious/pseuds/mevious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically I tried to do a daily writing challenge for my friends and I, and ended up doing "super expert hard asshole extreme mode". The challenge was to write a songfic because most of us haven't done that before. Hard mode was to do it to a song that doesn't evoke any sort of emotion in you. Expert mode was to write it to one of ten songs on a list. One of my friends challenged me to do all ten of the songs I listed -- in one day, no less -- so I'm going to post them here, and update with each one I finish. I have until midnight EST on 9/4/13. Wish me luck, AO3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Booty Wurk (One Cheek At A Time)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of ten. The song was "Booty Wurk (One Cheek At A Time)" by T-Pain. So far, so good.

Equius nigh on refused to believe that he’d allowed Nepeta to talk him into this. At least he’d managed to hold his ground on the clothing front, still wearing his usual outfit. What was the point in dressing up for this anyway? He didn’t even want to be here. It was just so preposterously vulgar and of course 100% inappropriate. It always seemed that he had trouble saying no to Nepeta, however.

_Jump out your car in the middle of the street, open up your truck, let the bass beat._

As Equius begrudgingly pulled up next to a sign that read “valet parking,” Nepeta excitedly jumped out of the truck, sending the music she had insisted upon blaring out the now-open door. Rolling his eyes, the apparently only sane person in the near vicinity tossed his keys to the valet and began following his happy friend. She had dragged him out here after a discussion about relationships and how Equius had yet to have -- or desire, but she didn’t care about that part -- one at all. “Clubbing!” she’d called it. Clubbing indeed, Equius thought, if any one of the filthy lower class citizens that inhabited a place such as this should so dare to touch him.

He squinted from behind his cracked sunglasses, stopping momentarily to read the tacky neon signage. ‘Club Zee’, the letters exclaimed in too-bright lights. Thank goodness he had kept his sunglasses with him, honestly.

_Go ahead. Go ahead._

He sighed as Nepeta beckoned for him to follow. She was wearing the most inappropriate, disgusting clothing, but Equius had digressed. So long as she didn’t exhibit improper behavior, he would let it slide just this once (not that he truly had a choice) and she would still be pure and sophisticated in his eyes.

_You gotta walk up to the club bare-footed._

Equius could only follow and watch silently as Nepeta waved and winked at the bouncer at the door. As soon as she was through him and inside, her too-high strappy heels were off. “I can’t purry well dance with these on,” she explained. “They’re purrly for looks.”

Within seconds they were separated and Equius found himself nervously sweating near the center of the dance floor. He couldn’t see Nepeta, and while she had warned him that this might happen and not to get upset, he was still angry. Why would she leave his side in a place so dangerous as this? He continued to muscle his way through the crowd in search of her, but to no avail.

That was, until he spotted it. Her, that is, no matter how low-class she may be no woman deserved to be call an it…

_I like that booty. You know where to put it._

His train of thought was running wild and off-track. Entirely inappropriate thoughts spun around as he put finding Nepeta on the back-burner for now. All of Equius’ attention was on the girl with the pleasing proportions dancing in front of him, and if he wasn’t mistaken, _toward_ him.

_Go ahead. Go ahead._

He could see almost all of her skin, and it was so improper and filthy, and yet… So pleasing. Her shorts that could barely qualify as such revealing so much of her smooth, soft yet toned thighs…

Before he knew it, the girl was on him, dancing and grinding and oh dear this was all so wrong and disgusting and _delicious_ \--

_Mama you look so professional, I’m following you, sweating you - I can’t believe I’m doing what I’m doing, what is wrong with my head? Go ahead._

Her long, curly hair pulled up into a bun with some form of oriental eating utensil stabbed through it -- her dark brown, almost maroon eyes surrounded with a cloud of red makeup -- not to mention the red paint she bore on her lips --

_Cause baby I like how you workin’ it, I’m watchin’ you, you twerkin’ it, I’m tryna get you out of this club, and get you off in my bed. Oh, go ahead, yeah._

Suddenly his hands were on her hips, facilitating the horrific dance she did, and within moments those red-painted lips were very close to his and he was sweating, profusely, but she didn’t seem to notice and he wanted to take her out of here to somewhere more _private_ and - and -

_Now let me see that booty work, booty work, booty boo boo booty work._

Had she been trained in the art of dancing seductively? Who was she, anyway? “Damara Megido,” said her lips, and it was as if those were all that existed of her when they met his cheek --

And then he spotted her. Nepeta, across the dance floor, waving. She winked, gave a double finger-pistol turned thumbs up (where the dickens had she learned that?), and disappeared again. Fortunately, the mere sight of Nepeta was enough to bring him to his senses. He mumbled a stuttered apology to -- Damara was her name, wasn’t it? -- and decided to wait the rest of the night making small talk with the valet outside.

That day, Equius vowed to _never_ go anywhere with Nepeta that required her to wear a skirt that short again.


	2. The Baddest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Installment two of ten. "The Baddest" by Froggy Fresh (formerly known as Krispy Kreme).

It wasn’t just that Caliborn was angry. Caliborn was always angry. Today, however, he was livid. Absolutely fucking frothing, filled to the brim and overflowing with complete rage. How dare that stupid loser punk say anything to him? He refused to stand for it. No one was better than he was, and no one was going to act like it either. Caliborn had a reputation to uphold around here, and no one was going to take that away from him.

_I am the baddest of them all. If you ain’t ‘bout money, then I don’t mess with y’all. Y’all think I don’t get girls, cause I ain’t very tall? If she see my stacks, I bet you that she calls._

There would be a fight, of course. That was just how it worked with gangs. Especially rival gangs. That idiot thug thought he was better than Caliborn? Well, that wasn’t simply an insult to Caliborn -- it was an insult to the entire South Side Cherubs, delivered what may as well have been directly from the mouth of the leader of that dumb ass gang with no symbol or name. Maybe they didn’t care much for the Cherubs or their reputation, but Caliborn sure as hell did. He had poured blood, sweat and tears into making himself and his gang what they were, he was not going to lose cred over this.

_I had to fight my whole life. I could beat you up even if you had one thousand knives. Even if you had infinity knives, I would punch you up into the air like a kite._

A snarl escaped the young Cherub leader as he was approached by two of his lesser members. “Are you fucking kidding me? Get the hell out. I don’t need your help or anyone else’s. It’s gonna be quick and easy, in and out with this fucker. I can more than handle his punk ass. Especially if he doesn’t bring friends. But I think he’s too cocky for that.”

The peons bowed out, shooting concerned glances at each other. Caliborn just shook his head and checked the clock. He decided to leave now, scope out the location for anything sharp or blunt -- just in case.

It only took five or ten minutes to get there on his motorcycle, never mind the fact that he was going about 40 miles over the speed limit. He parked his bike on the street near the entrance to the mostly abandoned dead end road. He looked around; a few trash cans, maybe a bottle or two if you dug deep enough, but nothing his opponent would be smart enough to make use of, considering the level of intelligence he displayed earlier today.

_I bet you sleep with a night light, ‘cause you’re scared of the dark, ‘cause you stink like a fart! Well I’ll light your fart on fire with my rhymes. You think I won’t? I do it all the time._

Speak of the devil. Caliborn turned to the sound of footsteps, surveying the shadows to make sure his ears had not deceived him. Good, he thought, just the one asshole who dared say he was a better leader than the Cherub. Sending his fist into his palm, he cracked his gloved knuckles with ease. “Well then. Looks like you were too fucking stupid to bring backup. Tell me you at least brought a fucking knife. Or maybe a gun.”

The opposing ‘leader’ shook his head, hands balled into fists at his sides. The mess of hair combined with the hood of his jacket concealed most of his face, but Caliborn could see that the douchefuck was grinning. “No,” came the response. “No weapons here. Just you, me and our strength and wits, you son of a dick-lick.”

Insults to his parents didn’t really bother Caliborn, so he said nothing and did nothing. His failure to react seemed to make his foe uncomfortable, which was not exactly what Caliborn was aiming for, but it worked out in his favor. “So are we going to do this or what? Stop fucking lollygagging and act like a gang leader, you insipid swine.”

_I might look small but I’m not. I don’t care if you’re big, I’ll fight you a lot! You know that I am the baddest of them all._

Caliborn hadn’t the slightest idea what at least two of those words meant, and it infuriated him. He was still a moment longer, taking advantage of the asshole’s discomfort, then charged. He nearly flew at the only slightly taller male. The element of surprise was on his side, and he landed a hard punch square in the fucker’s nose, angling it upward in a failed attempt to jam his nose up into his brain and kill him. Maybe it didn’t kill him, but by the way the enemy doubled over it was still pretty effective in terms of pain. So this asshole thought he was smart? Smarter than Caliborn? He’d fucking learn.

_I bet you don’t know two plus two. It’s four! It’s four! Now go and shut the door, ‘cause nobody wants to see your face no more._

“Get up,” Caliborn spat. “Don’t waste my fucking time.”

Experience told him he had probably spoken too soon; and he was right. The guise of defeat was just that -- a guise. The opponent, whose name Caliborn had never known but was referred to on the streets as “the Sufferer”, was about to live up to that pseudonym. “Good. Go ahead. Fucking hit me. I won’t even try to stop you. I dare you to land one. Single. Punch.”

_I’m tough as nails, you’re slower than a snail. I beat up every person in jail. I dare you to try and punch me; my face is so hard you’ll say “Ouch! You crunched me!”_

Apparently that didn’t deter the soon-to-be suffering sufferer, because he did just that. He tried. He hit Caliborn in the face, close-fisted, hard. It hurt like a bitch, and Caliborn’s inner cheek was bleeding, but you wouldn’t know that just by looking at him. Instead, the Cherub held his grin and didn’t budge an inch. The opponent’s face fell, and Caliborn knew he had it in the bag. If this dumbass fell for that tactic, then he was nowhere near on Caliborn’s own level.

_I fought two lions and won; I don’t even carry a gun. But I never run. But I never run. But I never r-r-r-r-- but I never run._

The Cherub leader used the moment he spent holding his grin to recover from the dazed sensation of being punched. It was only a moment, however, and that moment didn’t last long enough for the Sufferer to do any more damage. Caliborn grabbed him by the shoulders and planted a firm knee in the taller guy’s gut, causing a cough and a sputter, and maybe some blood -- it was too dark to tell.

It went on for a few more hits, all dealt by Caliborn, before the probably-suffering-from-internal-bleeding Sufferer ran. Caliborn stood there on the abandoned dead end street, grinning, feeling alive and full of energy. _That’s right, fucking run. No one can beat me._

_You know that I am the baddest of them all._


End file.
